My greatest source of uneasiness, in this time of trial, was my
son, whom his father and his father's friends delighted to
encourage in all the embryo vices a little child can show, and to
instruct in all the evil habits he could acquire - in a word, to
'make a man of him' was one of their staple amusements; and I need
say no more to justify my alarm on his account, and my
determination to deliver him at any hazard from the hands of such
instructors. I first attempted to keep him always with me, or in
the nursery, and gave Rachel particular injunctions never to let
him come down to dessert as long as these 'gentlemen' stayed; but
it was no use: these orders were immediately countermanded and
overruled by his father; he was not going to have the little fellow
moped to death between an old nurse and a cursed fool of a mother.
So the little fellow came down every evening in spite of his cross
mamma, and learned to tipple wine like papa, to swear like Mr.
Hattersley, and to have his own way like a man, and sent mamma to
the devil when she tried to prevent him. To see such things done
with the roguish naivete of that pretty little child, and hear such
things spoken by that small infantile voice, was as peculiarly
piquant and irresistibly droll to them as it was inexpressibly
distressing and painful to me; and when he had set the table in a
roar he would look round delightedly upon them all, and add his
shrill laugh to theirs. But if that beaming blue eye rested on me,
its light would vanish for a moment, and he would say, in some
concern, 'Mamma, why don't you laugh? Make her laugh, papa - she
never will.'

Hence was I obliged to stay among these human brutes, watching an
opportunity to get my child away from them instead of leaving them
immediately after the removal of the cloth, as I should always
otherwise have done. He was never willing to go, and I frequently
had to carry him away by force, for which he thought me very cruel
and unjust; and sometimes his father would insist upon my letting
him remain; and then I would leave him to his kind friends, and
retire to indulge my bitterness and despair alone, or to rack my
brains for a remedy to this great evil.

But here again I must do Mr. Hargrave the justice to acknowledge
that I never saw him laugh at the child's misdemeanours, nor heard
him utter a word of encouragement to his aspirations after manly
accomplishments. But when anything very extraordinary was said or
done by the infant profligate, I noticed, at times, a peculiar
expression in his face that I could neither interpret nor define:
a slight twitching about the muscles of the mouth; a sudden flash
in the eye, as he darted a sudden glance at the child and then at
me: and then I could fancy there arose a gleam of hard, keen,
sombre satisfaction in his countenance at the look of impotent
wrath and anguish he was too certain to behold in mine. But on one
occasion, when Arthur had been behaving particularly ill, and Mr.
Huntingdon and his guests had been particularly provoking and
insulting to me in their encouragement of him, and I particularly
anxious to get him out of the room, and on the very point of
demeaning myself by a burst of uncontrollable passion - Mr.
Hargrave suddenly rose from his seat with an aspect of stern
determination, lifted the child from his father's knee, where he
was sitting half-tipsy, cocking his head and laughing at me, and
execrating me with words he little knew the meaning of, handed him
out of the room, and, setting him down in the hall, held the door
open for me, gravely bowed as I withdrew, and closed it after me.
I heard high words exchanged between him and his already half-
inebriated host as I departed, leading away my bewildered and
disconcerted boy.

But this should not continue: my child must not be abandoned to
this corruption: better far that he should live in poverty and
obscurity, with a fugitive mother, that in luxury and affluence
with such a father. These guests might not be with us long, but
they would return again: and he, the most injurious of the whole,
his child's worst enemy, would still remain. I could endure it for
myself, but for my son it must be borne no longer: the world's
opinion and the feelings of my friends must be alike unheeded here,
at least - alike unable to deter me from my duty. But where should
I find an asylum, and how obtain subsistence for us both? Oh, I
would take my precious charge at early dawn, take the coach to M-,
flee to the port of -, cross the Atlantic, and seek a quiet, humble
home in New England, where I would support myself and him by the
labour of my hands. The palette and the easel, my darling
playmates once, must be my sober toil-fellows now. But was I
sufficiently skilful as an artist to obtain my livelihood in a
strange land, without friends and without recommendation? No; I
must wait a little; I must labour hard to improve my talent, and to
produce something worth while as a specimen of my powers, something
to speak favourably for me, whether as an actual painter or a
teacher. Brilliant success, of course, I did not look for, but
some degree of security from positive failure was indispensable: I
must not take my son to starve. And then I must have money for the
journey, the passage, and some little to support us in our retreat
in case I should be unsuccessful at first: and not too little
either: for who could tell how long I might have to struggle with
the indifference or neglect of others, or my own inexperience or
inability to suit their tastes?

What should I do then? Apply to my brother and explain my
circumstances and my resolves to him? No, no: even if I told him
all my grievances, which I should be very reluctant to do, he would
be certain to disapprove of the step: it would seem like madness
to him, as it would to my uncle and aunt, or to Milicent. No; I
must have patience and gather a hoard of my own. Rachel should be
my only confidante - I thought I could persuade her into the
scheme; and she should help me, first, to find out a picture-dealer
in some distant town; then, through her means, I would privately
sell what pictures I had on hand that would do for such a purpose,
and some of those I should thereafter paint. Besides this, I would
contrive to dispose of my jewels, not the family jewels, but the
few I brought with me from home, and those my uncle gave me on my
marriage. A few months' arduous toil might well be borne by me
with such an end in view; and in the interim my son could not be
much more injured than he was already.

Having formed this resolution, I immediately set to work to
accomplish it, I might possibly have been induced to wax cool upon
it afterwards, or perhaps to keep weighing the pros and cons in my
mind till the latter overbalanced the former, and I was driven to
relinquish the project altogether, or delay the execution of it to
an indefinite period, had not something occurred to confirm me in
that determination, to which I still adhere, which I still think I
did well to form, and shall do better to execute.

Since Lord Lowborough's departure I had regarded the library as
entirely my own, a secure retreat at all hours of the day. None of
our gentlemen had the smallest pretensions to a literary taste,
except Mr. Hargrave; and he, at present, was quite contented with
the newspapers and periodicals of the day. And if, by any chance,
he should look in here, I felt assured he would soon depart on
seeing me, for, instead of becoming less cool and distant towards
me, he had become decidedly more so since the departure of his
mother and sisters, which was just what I wished. Here, then, I
set up my easel, and here I worked at my canvas from daylight till
dusk, with very little intermission, saving when pure necessity, or
my duties to little Arthur, called me away: for I still thought
proper to devote some portion of every day exclusively to his
instruction and amusement. But, contrary to my expectation, on the
third morning, while I was thus employed, Mr. Hargrave did look in,
and did not immediately withdraw on seeing me. He apologized for
his intrusion, and said he was only come for a book; but when he
had got it, he condescended to cast a glance over my picture.
Being a man of taste, he had something to say on this subject as
well as another, and having modestly commented on it, without much
encouragement from me, he proceeded to expatiate on the art in
general. Receiving no encouragement in that either, he dropped it,
but did not depart.

'You don't give us much of your company, Mrs. Huntingdon,' observed
he, after a brief pause, during which I went on coolly mixing and
tempering my colours; 'and I cannot wonder at it, for you must be
heartily sick of us all. I myself am so thoroughly ashamed of my
companions, and so weary of their irrational conversation and
pursuits - now that there is no one to humanize them and keep them
in check, since you have justly abandoned us to our own devices -
that I think I shall presently withdraw from amongst them, probably
within this week; and I cannot suppose you will regret my
departure.'

'Probably,' he added, with a smile, 'your only regret on the
subject will be that I do not take all my companions along with me.
I flatter myself, at times, that though among them I am not of
them; but it is natural that you should be glad to get rid of me.
I may regret this, but I cannot blame you for it.'

'I shall not rejoice at your departure, for you can conduct
yourself like a gentleman,' said I, thinking it but right to make
some acknowledgment for his good behaviour; 'but I must confess I
shall rejoice to bid adieu. to the rest, inhospitable as it may
appear.'

'No one can blame you for such an avowal,' replied he gravely:
'not even the gentlemen themselves, I imagine. I'll just tell
you,' he continued, as if actuated by a sudden resolution, 'what
was said last night in the dining-room, after you left us: perhaps
you will not mind it, as you're so very philosophical on certain
points,' he added with a slight sneer. 'They were talking about
Lord Lowborough and his delectable lady, the cause of whose sudden
departure is no secret amongst them; and her character is so well
known to them all, that, nearly related to me as she is, I could
not attempt to defend it. Curse me!' he muttered, par parenthese,
'if I don't have vengeance for this! If the villain must disgrace
the family, must he blazon it abroad to every low-bred knave of his
acquaintance? I beg your pardon, Mrs. Huntingdon. Well, they were
talking of these things, and some of them remarked that, as she was
separated from her husband, he might see her again when he
pleased.'

'"Thank you," said he; "I've had enough of her for the present:
I'll not trouble to see her, unless she comes to me."

'"Then what do you mean to do, Huntingdon, when we're gone?" said
Ralph Hattersley. "Do you mean to turn from the error of your
ways, and be a good husband, a good father, and so forth; as I do,
when I get shut of you and all these rollicking devils you call
your friends? I think it's time; and your wife is fifty times too
good for you, you know - "

'And he added some praise of you, which you would not thank me for
repeating, nor him for uttering; proclaiming it aloud, as he did,
without delicacy or discrimination, in an audience where it seemed
profanation to utter your name: himself utterly incapable of
understanding or appreciating your real excellences. Huntingdon,
meanwhile, sat quietly drinking his wine, - or looking smilingly
into his glass and offering no interruption or reply, till
Hattersley shouted out, - "Do you hear me, man?"

'"To turn over a new leaf, you double-dyed scoundrel," shouted
Ralph, "and beg your wife's pardon, and be a good boy for the
future."

'"My wife! what wife? I have no wife," replied Huntingdon, looking
innocently up from his glass, "or if I have, look you, gentlemen:
I value her so highly that any one among you, that can fancy her,
may have her and welcome: you may, by Jove, and my blessing into
the bargain!"

'I - hem - someone asked if he really meant what he said; upon
which he solemnly swore he did, and no mistake. What do you think
of that, Mrs. Huntingdon?' asked Mr. Hargrave, after a short pause,
during which I had felt he was keenly examining my half-averted
face.

'I say,' replied I, calmly, 'that what he prizes so lightly will
not be long in his possession.'

'You cannot mean that you will break your heart and die for the
detestable conduct of an infamous villain like that!'

'By no means: my heart is too thoroughly dried to be broken in a
hurry, and I mean to live as long as I can.'

'Alone - and unprotected! But where can you go? what can you do?
He will follow you and bring you back.'

'I have laid my plans too well for that. Let me once get clear of
Grassdale, and I shall consider myself safe.'

Mr. Hargrave advanced one step towards me, looked me in the face,
and drew in his breath to speak; but that look, that heightened
colour, that sudden sparkle of the eye, made my blood rise in
wrath: I abruptly turned away, and, snatching up my brush, began
to dash away at my canvas with rather too much energy for the good
of the picture.

'Mrs. Huntingdon,' said he with bitter solemnity, 'you are cruel -
cruel to me - cruel to yourself.'

'I must speak: my heart will burst if I don't! I have been silent
long enough, and you must hear me!' cried he, boldly intercepting
my retreat to the door. 'You tell me you owe no allegiance to your
husband; he openly declares himself weary of you, and calmly gives
you up to anybody that will take you; you are about to leave him;
no one will believe that you go alone; all the world will say, "She
has left him at last, and who can wonder at it? Few can blame her,
fewer still can pity him; but who is the companion of her flight?"
Thus you will have no credit for your virtue (if you call it such):
even your best friends will not believe in it; because it is
monstrous, and not to be credited but by those who suffer, from the
effects of it, such cruel torments that they know it to be indeed
reality. But what can you do in the cold, rough world alone? you,
a young and inexperienced woman, delicately nurtured, and utterly -
'

'In a word, you would advise me to stay where I am,' interrupted I.
'Well, I'll see about it.'

'Never! while heaven spares my reason,' replied I, snatching away
the hand he had presumed to seize and press between his own. But
he was in for it now; he had fairly broken the barrier: he was
completely roused, and determined to hazard all for victory.

'I must not be denied!' exclaimed he, vehemently; and seizing both
my hands, he held them very tight, but dropped upon his knee, and
looked up in my face with a half-imploring, half-imperious gaze.
'You have no reason now: you are flying in the face of heaven's
decrees. God has designed me to be your comfort and protector - I
feel it, I know it as certainly as if a voice from heaven declared,
"Ye twain shall be one flesh" - and you spurn me from you - '

'Let me go, Mr. Hargrave!' said I, sternly. But he only tightened
his grasp.

His face was almost opposite the window as he knelt. With a slight
start, I saw him glance towards it; and then a gleam of malicious
triumph lit up his countenance. Looking over my shoulder, I beheld
a shadow just retiring round the corner.

'That is Grimsby,' said he deliberately. 'He will report what he
has seen to Huntingdon and all the rest, with such embellishments
as he thinks proper. He has no love for you, Mrs. Huntingdon - no
reverence for your sex, no belief in virtue, no admiration for its
image. He will give such a version of this story as will leave no
doubt at all about your character, in the minds of those who hear
it. Your fair fame is gone; and nothing that I or you can say can
ever retrieve it. But give me the power to protect you, and show
me the villain that dares to insult!'

'No one has ever dared to insult me as you are doing now!' said I,
at length releasing my hands, and recoiling from him.

'I do not insult you,' cried he: 'I worship you. You are my
angel, my divinity! I lay my powers at your feet, and you must and
shall accept them!' he exclaimed, impetuously starting to his feet.
'I will be your consoler and defender! and if your conscience
upbraid you for it, say I overcame you, and you could not choose
but yield!'

I never saw a man go terribly excited. He precipitated himself
towards me. I snatched up my palette-knife and held it against
him. This startled him: he stood and gazed at me in astonishment;
I daresay I looked as fierce and resolute as he. I moved to the
bell, and put my hand upon the cord. This tamed him still more.
With a half-authoritative, half-deprecating wave of the hand, he
sought to deter me from ringing.

'Stand off, then!' said I; he stepped back. 'And listen to me. I
don't like you,' I continued, as deliberately and emphatically as I
could, to give the greater efficacy to my words; 'and if I were
divorced from my husband, or if he were dead, I would not marry
you. There now! I hope you're satisfied.'

'No, Mr. Hargrave, I am not. For all the good you ever did me, or
ever wished to do, I most sincerely thank you: for all the evil
you have done me, and all you would have done, I pray God to pardon
you, and make you of a better mind.' Here the door was thrown
open, and Messrs. Huntingdon and Hattersley appeared without. The
latter remained in the hall, busy with his ramrod and his gun; the
former walked in, and stood with his back to the fire, surveying
Mr. Hargrave and me, particularly the former, with a smile of
insupportable meaning, accompanied as it was by the impudence of
his brazen brow, and the sly, malicious, twinkle of his eye.

'Well, sir?' said Hargrave, interrogatively, and with the air of
one prepared to stand on the defensive.

'We want to know if you are at liberty to join us in a go at the
pheasants, Walter,' interposed Hattersley from without. 'Come!
there shall be nothing shot besides, except a puss or two; I'll
vouch for that.'

Walter did not answer, but walked to the window to collect his
faculties. Arthur uttered a low whistle, and followed him with his
eyes. A slight flush of anger rose to Hargrave's cheek; but in a
moment he turned calmly round, and said carelessly:

'I came here to bid farewell to Mrs. Huntingdon, and tell her I
must go to-morrow.'

'Humph! You're mighty sudden in your resolution. What takes you
off so soon, may I ask?'

'Business,' returned he, repelling the other's incredulous sneer
with a glance of scornful defiance.

'Very good,' was the reply; and Hargrave walked away. Thereupon
Mr. Huntingdon, gathering his coat-laps under his arms, and setting
his shoulder against the mantel-piece, turned to me, and,
addressing me in a low voice, scarcely above his breath, poured
forth a volley of the vilest and grossest abuse it was possible for
the imagination to conceive or the tongue to utter. I did not
attempt to interrupt him; but my spirit kindled within me, and when
he had done, I replied, 'If your accusation were true, Mr.
Huntingdon, how dare you blame me?'

'She's hit it, by Jove!' cried Hattersley, rearing his gun against
the wall; and, stepping into the room, he took his precious friend
by the arm, and attempted to drag him away. 'Come, my lad,' he
muttered; 'true or false, you've no right to blame her, you know,
nor him either; after what you said last night. So come along.'

'She can't deny it!' cried the gentleman thus addressed, grinning
in mingled rage and triumph. 'She can't deny it if her life
depended on it!' and muttering some more abusive language, he
walked into the hall, and took up his hat and gun from the table.

'I scorn to justify myself to you!' said I. 'But you,' turning to
Hattersley, 'if you presume to have any doubts on the subject, ask
Mr. Hargrave.'

At this they simultaneously burst into a rude laugh that made my
whole frame tingle to the fingers' ends.

'Step this way, if you please!' I repeated, in so determined a
manner that he could not, or did not choose to resist its
authority. Somewhat reluctantly he ascended the steps and advanced
a pace or two into the hall.

'And tell those gentlemen,' I continued - 'these men, whether or
not I yielded to your solicitations.'

'No, I'll be sworn she didn't,' said Hattersley, 'or he'd never
look so black.'

'I'm willing to grant you the satisfaction of a gentleman,
Huntingdon,' said Mr. Hargrave, calmly addressing his host, but
with a bitter sneer upon his countenance.

'Go to the deuce!' replied the latter, with an impatient jerk of
the head. Hargrave withdrew with a look of cold disdain, saying, -
'You know where to find me, should you feel disposed to send a
friend.'

Muttered oaths and curses were all the answer this intimation
obtained.

I instantly departed and shut myself into the library. What could
possess me to make such a request of such a man I cannot tell; but
drowning men catch at straws: they had driven me desperate between
them; I hardly knew what I said. There was no other to preserve my
name from being blackened and aspersed among this nest of boon
companions, and through them, perhaps, into the world; and beside
my abandoned wretch of a husband, the base, malignant Grimsby, and
the false villain Hargrave, this boorish ruffian, coarse and brutal
as he was, shone like a glow-worm in the dark, among its fellow
worms.

What a scene was this! Could I ever have imagined that I should be
doomed to bear such insults under my own roof - to hear such things
spoken in my presence; nay, spoken to me and of me; and by those
who arrogated to themselves the name of gentlemen? And could I
have imagined that I should have been able to endure it as calmly,
and to repel their insults as firmly and as boldly as I had done?
A hardness such as this is taught by rough experience and despair
alone.

Such thoughts as these chased one another through my mind, as I
paced to and fro the room, and longed - oh, how I longed - to take
my child and leave them now, without an hour's delay! But it could
not be; there was work before me: hard work, that must be done.

'Then let me do it,' said I, 'and lose not a moment in vain
repinings and idle chafings against my fate, and those who
influence it.'

And conquering my agitation with a powerful effort, I immediately
resumed my task, and laboured hard all day.

Mr. Hargrave did depart on the morrow; and I have never seen him
since. The others stayed on for two or three weeks longer; but I
kept aloof from them as much as possible, and still continued my
labour, and have continued it, with almost unabated ardour, to the
present day. I soon acquainted Rachel with my design, confiding
all my motives and intentions to her ear, and, much to my agreeable
surprise, found little difficulty in persuading her to enter into
my views. She is a sober, cautious woman, but she so hates her
master, and so loves her mistress and her nursling, that after
several ejaculations, a few faint objections, and many tears and
lamentations that I should be brought to such a pass, she applauded
my resolution and consented to aid me with all her might: on one
condition only: that she might share my exile: otherwise, she was
utterly inexorable, regarding it as perfect madness for me and
Arthur to go alone. With touching generosity, she modestly offered
to aid me with her little hoard of savings, hoping I would 'excuse
her for the liberty, but really, if I would do her the favour to
accept it as a loan, she would be very happy.' Of course I could
not think of such a thing; but now, thank heaven, I have gathered a
little hoard of my own, and my preparations are so far advanced
that I am looking forward to a speedy emancipation. Only let the
stormy severity of this winter weather be somewhat abated, and
then, some morning, Mr. Huntingdon will come down to a solitary
breakfast-table, and perhaps be clamouring through the house for
his invisible wife and child, when they are some fifty miles on
their way to the Western world, or it may be more: for we shall
leave him hours before the dawn, and it is not probable he will
discover the loss of both until the day is far advanced.

I am fully alive to the evils that may and must result upon the
step I am about to take; but I never waver in my resolution,
because I never forget my son. It was only this morning, while I
pursued my usual employment, he was sitting at my feet, quietly
playing with the shreds of canvas I had thrown upon the carpet; but
his mind was otherwise occupied, for, in a while, he looked up
wistfully in my face, and gravely asked, - 'Mamma, why are you
wicked?'

'Well, then, it was papa,' replied he, thoughtfully. Then, after a
reflective pause, he added, 'At least, I'll tell you how it was I
got to know: when I'm with papa, if I say mamma wants me, or mamma
says I'm not to do something that he tells me to do, he always
says, "Mamma be damned," and Rachel says it's only wicked people
that are damned. So, mamma, that's why I think you must be wicked:
and I wish you wouldn't.'

'My dear child, I am not. Those are bad words, and wicked people
often say them of others better than themselves. Those words
cannot make people be damned, nor show that they deserve it. God
will judge us by our own thoughts and deeds, not by what others say
about us. And when you hear such words spoken, Arthur, remember
never to repeat them: it is wicked to say such things of others,
not to have them said against you.'